


Sensory

by Enchantable



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Romance, Sweet/Hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-04-23 07:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19146658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantable/pseuds/Enchantable
Summary: Loosely connected one shots about the five senses and a bonus alien one.





	1. Taste

Michael hates summer. 

His body temperature makes it a nightmare and at the moment, there isn’t enough cool air in the world. He’s ready to fucking die. No-one seems to understand his suffering either as he lays there on his death bed, wondering who decided to make the breeze so hot and why he decided to tag along on this stupid picnic everyone seemed so intent on doing. 

“You okay Guerin?” 

“No,” he says, “I’m dying,” he pushes himself up on his elbows, “you think I’m kidding but I’m not.” 

If he wasn’t dying before he sure as fuck is now.

Liz brought a snow cone machine because apparently that’s a thing. And Alex is standing in front of his truck in a loose partially unbuttoned linen shirt and a pair of khaki pants that make him look indecently good. And he’s holding a snow cone. A blue raspberry snow cone to be precise. Which means his lips and tongue are stained with blue. 

Alex being cool is a thing for Michael, it always fucking has been. 

Not cool in the sense that he’s rock star cool, but his actual physical temperature is cool. Which at the moment is hugely tempting even before his mouth gets stained blue and his teeth and tongue get cold. His mouth is probably very cold right now. And wet. Which is fucking lucky for him because Michael’s mouth has gone completely dry as Alex takes a bite from the snow cone and then sucks a bit of syrup that’s melted from his thumb. 

“You’re not dying,” Alex says. 

“How do you know?” Michael challenges, wanting to lay back down but also wanting to watch Alex’s mouth as it works the cone. 

“Come on,” he says, “you can’t just lay here all day.”

“I can because I’m dying,” Michael says stubbornly. 

“Guerin—shit,” he licks along the base of the cone quickly and wipes the syrup from where it’s streaked down his chin, “would you come down and stop being dramatic?” 

Michael rolls his eyes but it’s not like he’s going to deny the simple request. Especially as Alex focuses on eating the cone before it melts. Because, again, it’s fucking hot out. Alex being covered in blue raspberry syrup is not a mental image Michael is prepared to handle at the moment. Which is great when Alex bites more of the snow cone and no syrup goes anywhere. But he’s close enough that Michael can feel the cool coming off of him. 

“I hate the heat,” Michael mutters. 

“You should come by the cabin,” Alex offers, “I don’t like the heat either.”

Michael’s self pride roars up. 

He knows the danger of needing people, of needing Alex specifically. And having Alex with his cool skin and blue stained lips talking about being alone in air conditioning is doing doing things to him. It’s a trap. He knows it’s a trap. But it’s painfully hot out and Alex is making him feel alarmingly human. Despite all his logic, and Michael is a huge fan of the stuff, he finds himself nodding. 

“I might take you up on that,” he rasps.

“I hope you do,” Alex says and Michael tells himself he’s imagining how deep Alex’s voice is. Without breaking eye contact Alex sucks a bit of ice into his mouth and Michael falls back with a groan, “something wrong?” Alex asks lightly.

“You’re such an asshole,” Michael says. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alex remarks and Michael shoves himself up on his elbows, glaring as Alex swirls his tongue over the shaved ice, which would be weird on anyone else but on Alex it’s unbearably not, “you should get one of these, Liz has all kinds of flavors and they’re really good on days like today. That are hot.”

“I hate you,” Michael tells him falling back against the truck, “leave me here to melt.”

Alex reaches forward and tugs him up and forward, stepping in between his legs as they dangle over the edge of the truck. Alex as cool and as nice as Michael thought he would be. He takes a bite of the snow cone and then ducks his head, capturing Michael’s lips with his own. If Alex’s body was cool and nice, his mouth exceeds all of Michael’s expectations. It’s wet and cool and sticky with sugar syrup and raspberry flavor. Michael decides right then and there that he doesn’t need air conditioning. He doesn’t need anything really, so long as Alex keeps kissing him like this. Michael is dazed when he pulls back and makes a sound of protest as the heat rushes in. 

“Alex,” he whines his name in a way he hasn’t probably ever. 

Michael kisses him again while his mouth is still full of the shaved ice, not caring as he feels syrup trickle down his chin. Not until Alex plants wet kisses down the line the syrup has left, leaving cool and wet across his skin. Of all the things he had envisioned going right when Alex found out, Alex cooling him down wasn’t one he had dared dream of. Let alone with a blue raspberry snow cone.

“Guerin,” Alex says and Michael forces his eyes open.

“Hmmm?”

Alex is blushing pink but there’s a dot of blue at the hollow of his throat that Michael can’t resist ducking forward to suck off his skin. His neck is just as cool as the rest of him. Alex’s fingers card through his curls and Michael sighs against his skin at how nice it feels.

“You really are miserable, aren’t you?” Alex says.

“Not right now,” Michael argues, pulling back. Alex’s eyes sweep over his face and Michael meets his eyes stubbornly. Something soft is in Alex’s gaze that makes him feel more vulnerable than he wants to with his lips still sticky with blue raspberry, “I’m used to it, okay? It’s not so bad down underground.” 

“Come back to the cabin,” Alex says. 

“One condition,” Michael tells him, hooking his leg around the back of Alex’s thighs, “we’re gonna need more snow cones.”


	2. Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Prompt: Hi! I know you’re having trouble writing rn so no pressure at all!! You’ve probably seen it but on twitter Vlamis confirmed that Tyler makes cute little moaning sounds whenever they kiss and I was just wondering if you could maybe write something about it (as Michael and Alex, of course) please?

The only time Alex is silent is during their first kiss.

Literally that’s it and Michael thinks, in hindsight, it’s probably because he was so surprised. When he kissed him again, Michael learned that Alex is pretty much physically incapable of being silent. He’s a litany of sounds, from soft noises to full on moans to curses and prayers of Michael’s name. Michael doesn’t know how Alex manages to do it. He would rather bite his lip through than make the kind of noises that Alex makes. Those were trained out of him. Some faceless girl once said that he was like a sex ninja, silent as a shadow. Alex has never pressured him or asked why he’s quiet until he absolutely has to be. The most acknowledgement it gets is when Alex parts his lips or drags his thumb down them to keep him from breaking the skin. Protecting him as much as Michael is capable of allowing him to do so. Around Alex he’s okay with breathing loudly, but full on moans are rare.

Which is why, at the moment, Alex thinks he can get away with what he’s doing. 

“I don’t know what I’m in the mood for,” he says as Kyle shrugs and Liz puzzles over the menu, “Michael?”

He can’t answer.

Under the table Alex’s foot is inching up his leg and Michael doesn’t know what sound is going to come out of his mouth but it’s not going to be a good one for other people to overhear. Alex is slow and careful as his foot goes higher. He’s completely straight faced, except for the look he gives Michael to make sure this is alright. Michael should tell him to stop but his foot has gotten past his knee and Michael desperately does not want him to. When Alex’s foot pauses and starts to pull back, Michael gulps water and shrugs.

“Probably a burger,” he says.

The foot starts up his thigh again.

It takes everything for him not to scoot forward and instead hold still as Alex gets closer and closer to where he’s already aching. Michael can’t help rocking his hips forward at the last inch, finally getting Alex’s foot where it’s been teasing him for the last fifteen minutes. Alex suddenly becomes very interested in his menu as he flexes his foot against the hard ridge in Michael’s jeans. Michael never understood how Alex could moan so easily but now he gets it a hell of a lot better. Because of course Alex would do the thing he’s not supposed to. Like make noise, even though he grew up where sounds like that could get him in trouble. Alex is a defiant little shit, he always has been. But now it’s impossible not to want to moan, in no small part because Michael knows he can’t.

Actually following the rules has never been something Michael’s had the luxury of, not if he wants to survive anyway. Following the rules would have landed him at the prison. He’s genetically bred to be a rebel. Alex could follow the rules but somehow it’s equally against his personality. Michael can measure Alex’s progress in recovery by his freedom of expression. Usually with the clothes he wears but sometimes his skin will be unnaturally perfect or his eyes will be subtly deeper or the piercings will have understated jewelry in them. Today doesn’t look like a bold day but now Michael can feel why as Alex’s foot rocks and presses into his crotch.

“So,” Alex turns to Liz, “I heard you were making progress in the lab.”

“Yes,” she says and looks at Michael.

Michael almost misses the silent question when Alex curls his toes in the right spot that he shouldn’t be able to reach—but of course he can. Shit that’s his cue. The reason why they are supposed to be out at this dinner. A cue he’s not going to miss because Alex has unnaturally flexible toes and an agenda. He takes a deep breath and closes his knees around Alex’s ankle, trapping his foot there. He covers his toes with his hand, effectively locking Alex’s foot there. He can’t torture him. But he’s not expecting Alex’s toes to stroke down his palm in something actually comforting. Michael isn’t nervous he’s worked up because Alex is rubbing him off under the table with his god damn foot.

“Liz is writing me a recommendation,” he says, “for school. Kyle is too.”

“The world needs more scientists like you,” Liz says and Kyle nods.

Alex looks surprised but then he smiles warmly. And he seemingly forgets about the foot situation because he reaches for Michael’s hand. Michael isn’t not going to take his boyfriend’s hand. Of course the trade off is that when he scoots forward he pushes fully against Alex’s foot and Alex doesn’t fucking move it.

“That’s great,” Alex says, “congratulations.”

“Thanks—“ he says and the end comes out as a hiss when Alex shows that he’s got stupid strong ankles too.

“It’s gonna be great,” Liz assures him, mistaking his look for one of distress, “really. You have the letters, the scores.”

“The support,” Kyle says.

“Thanks guys,” he says and means it wholeheartedly even as he has to close his eyes and breathe sharply through his nose.

“He was so nervous about telling you,” Liz confides in Alex, “did you know?”

“I had no idea,” Alex lies because Alex is not a miserable liar.

“Do you feel relieved?”

Michael nods emphatically as Alex does something with his foot that shouldn’t be humanly possible and Michael pushes into him and tips over in his pants like he’s a teenager all over again. Of course teenage him never could have predicted Alex rubbing him off under the table with his skull print socks and a completely straight face. But God is Michael glad that he chose to wear underwear today. When he opens his eyes Alex is talking to Liz and Kyle and Michael forces himself to take a few deep breaths and relax his knees against Alex’s ankle. Alex taps his thigh with his foot and it retreats, leaving Michael a mess in its wake.

“I knew you found the application!” Liz cries, “Michael you need to learn to hide things better.”

“I’m never hiding anything again,” Michael swears, looking at Alex.

Alex smiles and looks over at the waiter as under the table, Michael toes off his shoe.


	3. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Prompt: Michael hesitated before he extended a hand and placed it on the dark blue bruise on Alex’s abdomen. They’ve been over, he wasn’t sure if touching Alex was a right he still enjoyed. He closed his eyes and trembled like he could feel Alex’s pain, Alex then covered his hand with his, and placed his other one around Michael’s neck bringing him closer. He kissed him. Their eyes remain closed. Since you enjoy writing hurt/ comfort I guess we live for protective Michael in this fandom 😍

He’s gonna be sick.

That’s the clearest thought in his head as he looks at Alex. Alex getting hurt because of alien bullshit is his second greatest fear. Alex dying is the first. And he had. He had and he’s only alive because Kyle is a doctor. A good doctor. Michael feels wrung out and angry. So so angry. At himself, at Liz, at all the factors that conspired to make Max sacrifice himself so instead of being fine, Alex is laying in his bunker with an oxygen mask over his face and fresh stitches on his skin. He was torn open and he’s been cut open far worse as Kyle’s done everything to fix what’s wrong. Now he’s laying there and the only thing that Michael can do is clean him up.

It’s such a mess.

Alex had told him he didn’t want to speak to him, couldn’t look at him. Michael knows he’s the last person Alex would want to do this, but Kyle’s passed out in the corner, exhausted and the thought of anyone else doing it is unfathomable to him. Michael’s selfish, he knows that, but he can’t. Not after watching Alex almost die over and over again. His spaceship is a shattered mess in the corner from where he threw it to the side to make room for Alex’s body. Alex had admitted to being afraid of him leaving once. It seems in the moment and far far too late, Michael had made the choice. He picks up the sponge and wrings it out, carefully starting on the patches of antiseptic Kyle had poured over him.

Underneath the brownish yellow mess is Alex’s skin. He’s not as pale as he should be, thanks to the blood flowing through him. He and Liz are a match, thank god. But he’s paler than Michael has ever seen him. He cleans his skin carefully, taking special care when it comes to the neat lines of stitches. He feels completely useless. The most he can do it apply antibiotic ointment and dress the wounds he comes to. His throat tightens when he comes to the remained of Alex’s leg. The neat scar is a mangled, fresh mess. Alex isn’t going to be able to use his prosthetic anytime soon. He’s back on the crutches. Alex hates those. For some reason knowing this minor inconvenience and Alex’s hatred of it makes the first sob break free. Michael has long since trained himself to cry quietly. The sound he makes is not quiet. He forces himself to shove the emotion back and finish dressing everything and cleaning the iodine off Alex’s skin.

Only then can he take off the gloves.

His hand hesitates only a moment before settling over the dark bruise on Alex’s abdomen. He’s always been aware of their difference in temperature, even before Alex was making jokes about how hot he ran. It was a joke in every group home that Michael was a baby who didn’t like getting his temperature taken no matter what device was used. Forehead strips, under the tongue, in the ear—the second one came out he took off like a rocket. How could he not? The last successful temperature taking incident had resulted in him nearly going to the hospital. The bruise is hot, even to his hand. He can visualize the blood under the skin, the inflammation Alex is battling against. He refuses to cry though. He has to make sure Alex is okay and that Kyle is resting so if Alex isn’t okay he can help. There’s no time for a breakdown. When he looks up though, he realizes that’s going to be tested. The mask is fogging up faster. They knocked Alex out but he’s coming to.

“Alex, Alex,” Michael scrambles over, hopping he’ll at least be able to distract him so he doesn’t hurt himself, “you’re okay. I’m sorry—“

“Guerin,” Alex rasps.

“Yeah, listen, I’m done okay so you can just—“

“Where’s Guerin?” Alex mumbles, “I need ‘m.”

Michael inhales sharply.

“Alex?”

“Guerin, I need—“ Alex’s brow draws together, “where’s Guerin? Guerin, in Roswell.”

Michael can’t breath. It’s not just that Alex is asking for him. Alex is using his last name. Michael’s not a huge fan of his name for obvious reasons, but Michael’s a common name. There’s a million Michael’s around. It’s easy to be lost among them. He’s the only Guerin in Roswell. The only Guerin that Alex knows. He doesn’t want Alex to open his eyes and see the bunker and panic. Or see him and panic. Swallowing he clears his throat and settles his fingers inside of Alex’s wrist like nurses do when they take pulses. Alex has been in the hospital so many times it’s like he knows the drill and he relaxes fractionally.

“Guerin’s on his way,” he says, “he’s coming to you this time, alright? If you go to sleep, he’ll be here when you wake up.”

Alex makes a noise of agreement, his lips twitching up before he goes limp again, his breathing changing and telling Michael that he’s drifted off. Michael aches to touch him everywhere he can, to comb through his hair and stroke his skin and make sure when he opens his eyes he knows how sorry Michael is. But more than that he wants Alex to sleep. The most he can do is carefully drag a sheet up, making sure it’s tucked in around him. Alex doesn’t stir as he does. Just continues to sleep. Michael forces himself to check on the recuperating Kyle.

He doesn’t let himself think about the possibility that Alex asked for him when his leg was blown off. That he woke up on the other side of the world and thought about him or asked for him or worse, was not allowed to get in touch with him because of his dad. He thinks about that a lot. He thinks about every missed call during that time or unknown number he ignored because he didn’t think it was Alex, just another bill collector chasing him down. This time he swears it will be different. So he drags the lone stool over and sits by Alex’s bedside.

He takes his hand.

Willingly, this time, he waits.


	4. Mindshare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Prompt: hi! if it's not too much trouble, could you please write something where alex has a nightmare and michael assumes at first that its about his time at war but after some coaxing to get alex to talk finds out that it was actually about that night in the toolshed and that alex blames himself for what happened and that maybe after michael left, jesse hurt alex too? thank-you! no worries if not!

Michael doesn’t see the first few times.

The first time he forgets he has them and it’s lucky because he wakes up gasping. He says something about needing water and runs. The next few times he palms them subtly. He doesn’t know why he’s so weak about it. Michael is the one who got scarred but he’s the one with a head full of nightmares about it. So he doesn’t tell him and just slips the sleeping pills around him when he has to. Michael is always around when the nightmares are the worst, but Alex refuses to give up what precious time he can wrestle with him. So he takes the pills.

He comes back with a lot more pills.

There’s no subtle palming anymore because he’s shackled to a pharmacy. The first night he stays over in the air stream, Michael watches for a moment as he pulls out the case and then turns over, mumbling an apology about his living situation and how he can’t give Alex more privacy. Alex is equally sorry for how broken he is and they just leave those sharp edges out to slice them at will. They tear them to shreds eventually, how could they not and more pills get added to Alex’s pharmacy until he says enough is enough and comes up with a plan. He weans off them slowly until the only things he has are a few bottles for bad days. He doesn’t take those that often. No one cares if he wakes up gasping and sick because no one is there.

Until someone is.

Michael slips back in before Alex is even fully aware of what’s going on. It’s gradual, but it happens like something inevitable. Michael slips in when he’s working and when he’s home until somehow Alex’s entire life is revolving not just around aliens but about one alien in particular. He doesn’t mind it nearly as much as he thinks he probably should. When the nightmares start up, it’s equal parts upsetting and infuriating. He’s long since learned to wake up without screaming, but there’s no hiding it when it happens with them pressed together.  

His eyes snap open as Michael looks at him anxiously. He’s over him, both his hands locked around Alex’s wrists. For a moment Alex feels sick and thinks he may have tried to hurt him. But there’s something in Michael’s eyes that makes him stop and not jump to that conclusion. Michael searches his face and then cautiously lets Alex’s wrists go, easing back. Alex sits up and looks around, getting his bearings before he focuses back on Michael. Whatever comfort he is about to give falls silent at the look on Michael’s face.

“I thought they were about war,” he says.

“Guerin—“

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Michael demands. Alex sits up before he can get off him and grabs him, holding him there. Even though touching his sides seems to shoot sparks up his arms, “do I—“

“I don’t want to not sleep together,” Alex says firmly.  Michael looks doubtful and guarded. Alex takes a breath, realizing that he’s not getting out of it, “I always have nightmares about it.”

“I’m okay,” Michael insists.

Alex nods slowly, glancing down at the smooth hand of Michal’s skin. He doesn’t have a right to talk about any of this, does he? Michael’s the one who got hurt. He’s the one who should decide if this is over or not. But as earnestly as Michael is looking at him, as intent as he is at making it clear he’s alright, he also looks worried. He reaches up and puts his hand on Alex’s chest, so the back of the skin is touching him. It’s smooth and unblemished but instead of the relief any decent person would feel, Alex feels like he’s swallowed an ice block.

“I know,” Alex says, “I know I don’t have any right to still be hung up on it,” he continues, trying to arrange his thoughts when Michael cups his cheeks.

“Hey I didn’t say that,” he says, “if you’re not okay with it, we gotta do something.”

Alex lets out a sound.

“I’ve been trying to for a decade. If you’ve got any ideas—-“

“Yeah, I do,” Michael says. Alex feels his heart skip, “but you gotta trust me.” Alex wavers only a heartbeat before he nods. He does trust him. Especially with this, “lay back.”

Alex complies, trying not to be so tense and failing. He shifts to get comfortable and tries to blow out all the air in his lungs. Michael settles his weight back on Alex’s thighs and lets him adjust. Alex finally gives up squirming to get comfortable and just watches Michael, wondering what he’s going to do. Michael comes forward slowly, taking his weight onto his forearms until he above Alex again, though this time he’s not pinning anything. He ducks his head and brushes their noses together.

“Try to relax,” Michael says.

“I can relax if you tell me what you’re gonna do,” Alex breathes.

“I’m gonna put the emphasis on something else,” he says, “I gotta go in your head though. Is that okay?”

Alex nods before he can change his mind.

There’s a warm rush somewhere Alex can’t see. It’s like sinking into a hot bath. The lingering remnants of the nightmare are there, but they get parted away easily. Instead what bubbles up is before. Giggling and touching and that joy at being there together. When he thinks of what came next, it falls away. Unimportant. When he focuses on what’s happening right now, the muscle memory is only reenforced by the warm press of Michael’s skin and the curls that are smushed between their foreheads. Michael perpetually needs a haircut, even now. Michael laughs dry and soft into the air between them and rocks his weight forward, drawing a groan from Alex’s lips.

“Better?” Michael asks hopefully and Alex nods, wrapping his arms around Michael and kneading into his lower back, “Alex,” Michael groans his name and Alex is pulled fully back into the present. They’re not kids. Nothing comes after this because the only person who has a key to that door is him.

“Come here,” Alex says and pulls him down fully, rocking his hips up and swallowing the sound Michael makes.

After they lay warm and wrapped in each other’s embrace. Michael peers up at him through his mess of curls, checking to see but Alex just feels warm and sleepy and post coital. Michael reaches up and pushes his fingers through Alex’s hair, making him close his eyes and chase the sensation of Michael’s warm fingers on his scalp. It’s different than the feel of him in his head, but the warmth is the same.

“Thank you,” Alex says.

“You’re welcome,” Michael replies, “Iz is helping me learn,” he adds. Alex smiles against his chest, “wake me up if it didn’t work,”  he adds softly, “we can try something else.”

Alex nods and between the mind melding and the sex, they both manage to sleep until noon.


End file.
